Hide the bruises, take the blame
by MidnightInDecember
Summary: The sequel to Ive had it, now Im leaving you. Three parts. Mello founds out Matt's new boyfriend is beating him...
1. Chapter 1

_**So, this is the sequel to I've had it, now I'm leaving you. Know I said to some there wouldn't be one but I suddenly got this idea… I apologize. **_

_**English is still not my first language, but I'm doing my best XD! My titles are low class, I know XD, just can't help it!Disclaimer: none of us own it and we know it.**_

_**Hide the bruises, take the blame**_

_**Part 1 of 3**_

Mello was not happy.

Well, that in itself wasn't very unusual; he was the angsty type. He didn't go through life laughing as much as cursing, fighting and hating. To not mention fucking and drinking.

However, his unhappiness these days wore the unchangeable blackness of a depression. That was fucking pathetic and sad, but he just didn't have energy enough to hold it back. To tell the truth, he was exhausted.

These days, he barely slept. He had lost a few pounds from not eating the same amount he used to eat -he was starving, and absolutely not hungry.- and he tried to avoid breathing when it wasn't necessary.

Unfortunately, it always was.

It was five weeks since Matt left him and he still couldn't help but clinging desperately to the hope that the redhead would come home. Fuck, Mello didn't even know where he was.

If he had, he would have paid him a visit only to kick his ass for making him such a weakling, a victim for the stereotypical disease of heartbreaking. This shit was screwed up big time.

Of course, one of the reasons Mello hadn't seen him again could be that he hadn't been out of his apartment for a disturbingly long time, except to go buy the chocolate he ate furiously and the food he barely ate at all. Why buy it? Habit, or whatever.

That hooker. That son of a bitch following in the steps of his late mother. To hell with him.

Mello felt like he was standing at an edge, he actually had that image in his head, slipping, but he didn't want to be it, to see it. The reason he hadn't been outside longer than necessary the last few weeks was… um, because he didn't like going outside. Suddenly and in some odd way. Besides, he wasn't feeling well. In fact, he felt sick. Some weird illness had broken him down completely and that did explain the distinct pain in his chest.

* * *

That night, just to prove himself wrong, Mello left the apartment and his isolation.

He went to a club which was one of the few places where he and Matt had used to go together. He tried his best convincing himself that it wasn't for it being Matt's favourite club.

Who the hell was that Matt anyway?

"Damn it, Mello, you're not fooling anyone," he informed himself.

He ignored that comment.

Well, the person he apparently knew or at least had heard of somewhere wasn't there. The fucking establishment was small and more like a parody of a club than a real club: all cheap and ugly, and badly illuminated. Mello cursed, frustrated, and didn't even care to hide his disappointment. He…whatever. He had just needed to tell him something, that was it, that was why, but thinking about it now, he couldn't remember what it was.

Probably nothing important.

He saw someone he did recognize, though. It was some random girl whose name he couldn't recall- if he had ever known it- one of the sluts Matt had fucked.

She gestured for him to come closer. She obviously recognized him, too.

She was dressed like some cheap whore, fitting in the environment so perfectly it was almost scary. Fuck, did Matt's taste vary. Mello: good choice.This place and that piece of white trash: enormously sucky choices.

"Hi Mel!" she greeted when he stopped in front of her.

Who gave the fucking bitch the right to use his nickname?

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

What was he doing here anyway?

"So, you and Matt are through," she continued matter-of-factly. If she noticed the rage in Mello's face, she didn't show it. "Hell, I thought you were, like, what, made for each other or something."

If he hadn't been so damn tired, he'd have gladly crushed her teeth to get that stupid grin of her face. Despite her being female.

"Whatever," he said, silently cursing his lacking vocabulary.

It wasn't like it meant something to him.

For the first time in his life, Mello actually wished he had been as drained of emotions as the freaking cotton brat alias Near; it would have made the indifference façade a lot easier to put up.

The woman just shrugged.

"Whatever," she agreed. "Hey, what a coincidence! I met him… yesterday, you know. A shame, really… you've met him lately?"

"No." Mello did his best to smile unaffectedly. "Why?"

"He looks like shit," she said. "Not cause you're that pretty yourself, honey, but…"

'Honey?'

"Oh, get to the point, you dumb slut!" Mello interrupted.

She frowned at him. She wore too much make up and represented all he had ever found disgusting in a girl. Or it was just him being generally pissed.

"Hell, calm down," she said. "Why would I if you're screaming at me?"

Mello's smile was even more forced now.

"Please?" he said, an 'or you'll die' statement hidden in that one word.

"Okay." She shrugged again. "He looked, like, hurt."

"In what way?" Mello asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

"In the 'my husband beats me' way," she replied. "You didn't know? He has a new boyfriend anyway, he wasn't with him though, and…"

"So you think he beats him?"

Mello couldn't help getting worried. What had that asshole gotten himself into now?

But it wasn't like Matt hadn't gotten hurt before. It wasn't like Mello himself hadn't beaten the crap out of him sometimes, and received some in return. Ah, sweet memories…

"Don't know," she answered. "He had his goggles on and… well, it's not like the lights in here are the brightest. And I was drunk, so… but he was different somehow, really." She smiled weakly. "It sounds really stupid and all, but he didn't seem… happy. He was all nervous, looking around him all the time, like whispering when he spoke… kinda creeped me out."

Mello tried to come up with something more, another question, a way to keep the conversation going, but his brain didn't function properly and within two minutes the woman had said 'good bye' and wandered of somewhere.

"Fuck, Matt," Mello said to the one who wasn't there.

And then he left the club feeling even more miserable and a whole lot more infuriated.

He got so drunk that night that when he woke up next morning- or more like lunchtime- he didn't even remember where in hell he had been. Or why there were dried up blood all over his knuckles. Or why his nose hurt like hell, or why his left shoe was missing.

Seriously.

* * *

Mello spent three days in hiding again feeling worse than ever.

Wasn't there a bottom?

This was so embarrassing: he needed someone to make him pull himself together. He needed someone to tell him how fucking ridiculous, how annoying, how irrational and desperate he appeared.

He needed someone to dislocate his fucking shoulder to turn the pain in his mind into something physical. Something you could treat by going to a hospital, a pain that stopped, a wound that healed, a hurt you could handle with medication. A non psychosomatic infection.

Fuck it all.

* * *

The fourth day, he went out again. He walked the streets feeling misplaced and restless, without an actual goal. This whole situation must be killing his sanity, because he felt invisible, like a ghost or some sort of lost spirit.

He also felt like writing a ton of poor poetry, but that's a famous by-product of heartache.

Did the people going past him really see him? He glanced at them with a hint of paranoia: did they?

Well, at least that would mean they couldn't possibly be out to get him. Always something.

He walked in the streets -not indicating he sold sex- trying to think of something constructive to do, to avoid feeling so awfully worthless, but no. He couldn't. Damn. He walked them till the evening, welcoming the darkness that hid him from the eyes that couldn't see him anyway.

Wasn't that illogical. Crap. Damn it. Fuck.

Mello went to them same place again, the club where that slut had been, the club where the music wasn't loud enough, the alcohol wasn't illegal enough , the people weren't rude enough for him to like it. It was a small place, too. You could stand at the door and basically notice everything going on and everyone being there, despite the limited illumination.

That was good. It meant that even if he saw Matt, he could escape before the redhead saw him. Mello, the most screwed up strategist in the history of this screwed up world.

In a nothing- to- do- with- sexway, which sucked.

In a nothing- to- do- with- blow jobsway.

He was lucky and unfortunate. Matt wasn't there. How come that piece of shit suddenly found something better to do with his life?

But the slut was there, again, she sat in the back of the room behind a soiled table covered with bottles. She obviously had nothing better to do with _her _life. She'd obviously gotten too much to drink tonight, too. Mello went over to her without caring for that she was literally drooling.

She couldn't even sit straight, she wagged from side to side with a dim look in her eyes, repeatedly giggling for no reason whatsoever.

"Hello?" He shook her by the shoulder.

The slut didn't react at all. All she did was giggle, which made Mello frown. He didn't really want to talk to her anyway. He went over the options in his head:

1. He could slap her, whatever difference that would make. A bad one, since he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

2. He could leave without accomplishing anything. Utterly depressing, that would be.

3. He could do what he had wanted to ask of her himself. That is, get her cell phone and make a call. That is, borrow it as careful as possible, hoping nobody would notice, and then return it to her.

3 was indeed the most appealing alternative. Yeah. It wasn't like he couldn't do it. He was a genius, to not mention he had been the head of the fucking mafia for some time. He was good. And people at places like this wasn't very observant. And he was invisible. Ha ha.

A goddamn mastermind with a really pretty doll face… Hell, that was Matt's words. Fuck that bastard for infecting Mello's memory with his shit.

Mello stole her cell phone without trouble. Piece of fucking cake, in fact.

She had Matt's number, which annoyed him. True, he had had his number too- until a little while ago when his cell broke. That second-rate crap couldn't even stand getting thrown into a wall.

Of stone. From the other side of the room. Very hard.

He should sue somebody.

The first time he called the number, he couldn't bring himself to wait for an answer. He hung up almost immediately, calling himself a lot unpleasant things. Worse words than 'coward'.

Damn, he needed to snap out of this. This was a bad idea. He knew why he just couldn't let this go, in theory, but it didn't mean he could end it.

One-sided love, care, desire or whatever was an incurable disease. You want what you cannot get and such shit.

He was about to drop the phone in one of the girl's half full drinks when it started vibrating in his hand.

Fuck. Mello answered, even though he knew he would live a fucking sad amount of time regretting it.

"Liz?" Matt's voice called.

It felt awkward after missing him for so long, to hear him speak, and it made an unwanted picture appear in Mello's mind. Fuck, he was angry- a cute, smiling Matt wasn't the right thing to increase the frustration he damn well needed.

"Hey Mattie," Mello replied in a not particularly steady voice.

He was as cool as a day in the desert. Great.

"Mel." Matt did, of some reason, not sound very surprised. "Um, how are you?"

'Stupid fucking question, asshole.'

"Me? Yeah, well… I'm fine," Mello said out loud. "You?"

"Uh, well." Matt hesitated. "Fine, I guess. Really. I'm… happy."

'Why do I even bother, you bitchy cocksucker?… Oh, right. Because my IQ dropped when you left. Because irrational things like affection makes you dumb.'

"So," Mello continued, not capable of repressing a weird chuckle. "You, eh… I heard you met another…"

'Which means nothing to me. Apparently. Shit. Why did I ask?'

"Uh, yeah," Matt answered, sounding kind of uncomfortable.

"How good for you." Mello could more or less feel the fake smile creeping across his face.

"Yeah, whatever. Was it something you wanted?"

Matt's tone clarified that he was tired of being polite.

"Is he beating you?"

Mello bit his tongue the same moment that question had left his mouth, but too late. He glanced over at the slut; she was humming something to herself now, rocking back and forward.

Matt was very, very silent for some awfully, absurdly long seconds. Was it possible for seconds to be days?

"What the hell…" Mello then heard. "What the fuck do you… how in… What's your problem, asshole?!"

Click. He hung up. Just like that. Mello stood there like a paralysed idiot, staring at the phone in disbelief - for what he didn't really know- before he put it down on the table. This was insane.

He left having memorised Matt's number, just in case he would want to… have to call it again. Hell, if Matt were so happy, why had he sounded hunted?

'What's your problem, asshole?' Screw you Matt, what is yours?

* * *

Mello learned an important lesson that night. An obsession does not ease by talking to the object of it. What an annoyance.

Not being able to fall asleep, wading through the broken mess which spelled his apartment, Mello came to a decision. He had to meet Matt. Yeah. If nothing else, just to punch him in the face. Or to give him some goddamn clothing he had left or something. That was an excuse, at least.

Mello wasn't very subtle when it came to this sort of stuff.

He found a sweater that belonged to Matt and that was only a little bit torn. He put it on -it really wasn't his style at all, black and white stripes- and left to go wasting his fucking life again.

He had no idea where to look, but he figured that the club where had spent illogically much time at lately was a good place as any to start.

No luck.

Motherfucking retard.

However, the next night he had better luck. After a day he couldn't remember more of than some fuzzy sequences, he decided to go there _again_: man, he who hated it.

He actually got so shocked when he spotted the redhead in the crowd that he didn't know what to do. He wasn't prepared for this.

Something you had been waiting and fearing and hoping for wasn't supposed to just happen. That was not how it worked. Mello was so close to turn and run. However, he did have some pride left. Not much, but enough to make him stay.

He even had the bravery to enter the crappy place with a barely visible smile curling his pale lips. Furthermore, he stepped right up to Matt, who stood next to the bar counter looking rather lost. That in itself was a challenge.

"Hey," Mello said.

Matt started. He looked at Mello the same way you might look at a person you believed to be dead and buried, or at least who had been out of town for a few centuries. Mello was still wearing the black and white sweater, and he let his eyes rest on it while he felt the blush painting his cheeks.

Why the hell was he so embarrassed?

Matt didn't have the courtesy to pretend he couldn't see it.

"Hi," he said, small smirk on his face, made obvious by his voice. "You look like a tomato. Fuck, blushing doesn't suit you, Mel."

It pissed Mello off. Okay, many things pissed Mello off, that was how he functioned. This was more; it made him furious. Out of pure anger he lifted his head, looked Matt right in the eye.

The slut hadn't lied: his appearance was terrible. Red underneath his eyes, and had he gotten thinner? He had shadows darkening his face, they made him look pale and somehow older, and utterly fragile. Like he was a minute from falling to pieces and those shadows at his forehead, crossing his cheeks, hiding his eyes, were the cracks widening.

"You look like road kill," Mello giggled.

Although he was concerned, he was a hell of a lot more angry.

"And you, as always, look like a whore," Matt responded, the shadows deepening and the smirk not vanishing.

"Did I claim otherwise?"

Mello heard the false softness in his own words, teasing and lying. He wanted to make Matt lose it; he needed an excuse to yell at him.

"Well, whatever," Mello said, continuing his efforts. "You do, quote, look like shit anyway. You getting beaten up by your new, huh?"

It was only then he realised Matt wasn't wearing his goggles. That, if something, was conspicuous. For fuck's sake, Mello had even caught him sleeping with them on! He'd had to talk him into taking them off when they were gonna have sex.

Matt was born in and married to those ugly goggles.

"Hell, Mel, you have serious issues or what?" Matt said, somewhat irritated. "You stalking me, I guess. Wouldn't surprise me."

"Where are your goggles?" Mello asked, ignoring the question.

For a moment, Matt looked totally caught off guard.

"They… broke," he said with a vague gesture.

"How?" Mello couldn't help the laughter escaping with the word.

"Leave me alone."

Matt sounded hurt, and when he turned to go, Mello could swear he saw tears sparkle at the corners of his eyes.

"Goddamn it, Matt!" He throw one arm out to stop him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole? You're completely depressed and unhappy and out of it, the hell is it?"

Matt looked over at the hand holding his arm, and it made Mello tighten the grip even though the other didn't try to get loose.

"Cause you're just a ray of sunshine," he said weakly, eyes dry: had Mello just imagined things?

"Oh fuck you, you cocksucking dickhead!" the blonde snapped.

Matt smiled at this, a misplaced facial expression, a tired and faint smile which made Mello strangely sad.

It wasn't supposed to be misplaced. Matt was the smiling one: everybody of the few who knew them knew that.

"… Wouldn't that mean I'm sucking my own head?" Matt asked.

Mello didn't get it at first. Then he just groaned.

"Shut the fuck up, fucker! I didn't mean it literally!"

It was there Mello started to hope, for something, at last. Of no other reason than a dull joke, but hope is a stupid feeling. He was about to try some other crappy line, to test his luck.

But Matt's cell rang. The tune was a theme to some idiotic game, Mello knew as much.

For a few seconds, he had the possibility to stop Matt from answering it, but he was surprised and he let the opportunity pass.

"Hello?" Matt said, looking paler than ever, those shadows coming back, consuming the colour of his skin.

Mello couldn't make out what the one at the other end was saying, though he did see the change in Matt's gaze.

"Yeah, I'm, uh," Matt said nervously, watching Mello with frightened anxiety. "No, no, I'm alone…mm, sure… I'm sorry…right…"

It was like seeing someone shrink; during the conversation, Matt got smaller. When he hung up he didn't spare Mello a second glance, he just started walking.

Towards the exit, the night and the person whose voice made him shrink.

"The hell?" Mello ran to catch up with him. "What it is? And who was that?"

"Be nice and piss off," Matt said, keeping his eyes neutrally fixed on the doorway.

"Hey, you…" Mello tried to grab hold of him again.

"DON'T!" Matt spun around, screaming so loud the whole club seemed to stare. "Don't you fucking dare! Just leave me ALONE, you hear me?! FUCK OFF!"

Harsh desperation in his voice, but Mello was persistent. In hell he could let him get away like this.

"You wait, fucker!" He screamed pretty loud himself now. "What the fuck does all this mean?!"

To that, Matt smiled. This one wasn't warm, wasn't charming or ironic; not the type he often used. This smile was all throughout hypocritical.

"He'll kill us both," he said in a monotone voice.

'Brainwashed' was the only description Mello could match to his unfocused, empty look. Without knowing why, he now let Matt leave without trying to stop him.

'That fucker forgot his sweater,' was his only rational thought.

What did all this mean?

**So… hope you liked it! I know, I know, it's very… Mello just runs back and forward, I'm sorry! Please so much, review! Reviews make me happy and really, really helps my writing. **

**I have the second part and have started on the third, will try to post them soon.**

**Thanks a lot for reading :)! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all reviewers, I'm so glad I have you!! **

**Here's the next part, enjoy! I apologise for all possible grammatical errors…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own. Except for Matt's boyfriend whom I hate. Really. I want to kill that asshole.**

**Hide the bruises, take the blame**

**Part 2 of 3**

Matt was bleeding.

Of course he was: that was what you got from disobeying.

The sleeve of the sweater lying next to him, which he had pressed against his what might be broken, bleeding nose and his split lip, was red, red, red by blood. It hurt like hell: his ribs from the impact with a boot, his head and his back from the impact with a wall, his shoulder that was probably dislocated along with three fingers- that sicko had actually done that systematic, pulling the fingers out, one two three, counting them, laughing, asking: 'You want another one, sweetie? You like it, huh? You want another one?

Scream for me…'

So, in the end, Matt had. He let out a muffled cry into the hand covering his mouth, even though he had promised himself not to, even though he hadn't screamed since the last kick to his fucking torso, and it stopped.

It didn't go away, but it stopped getting worse.

And his neck, and his legs, and his f-ing ass, and his feet, it all ached.

His teeth… Well, at least one he could spot underneath the bed, in the shadows and the dust, less than a metre from where he was resting his head. One or two was loose in his mouth, he pressed his tongue against them.

His elbow… Splinter of glass somewhere in there, how the fuck was he supposed to dig that out?

He was naked; 'I'll rip those clothes of you, yes honey, cause humiliation is the verdict, the appropriate punishment.', and the room was oh so cold.

He was all blue, purple, black and red: the bruises and the blood. He knew he couldn't call out for help, nobody would want to, there lived a lot other people here, he had heard someone in the apartment next door, the steps, the television, but that didn't make him any less lonely. This was his penalty, he was an idiot, and he did deserve every last bruise.

Besides, he knew what would happen to… him. The hell he could live with knowing that.

His phone rang. He couldn't reach it: he was on the floor, it was on the bureau, and he couldn't move an inch. It kept on ringing, an annoying sound, a melody he suddenly hated with all his might.

Then it stopped, it got quiet, and he started hating the silence instead.

* * *

"Fuck you."

The fucking bastard wouldn't pick up. Mello dried sweat from his forehead: he had ran the whole way back to his apartment. To make a phone call. Fuck his priorities.

And now the one he was calling wouldn't answer. What's your problem, asshole?

Why in the fucking hell to crap this world was did he even try?

Obviously, you couldn't put stuff back together once you had divided them. Obviously. But still, he had that foul piece of clothing that was, really, pestering his surroundings: he needed to get rid of it. He couldn't just throw it away, cause it wasn't his- like that had ever stopped Mello before- so he had to return it to that disgusting ex friend/ lover of his. Which was inconvenient, since he couldn't seem to get in touch with him, and actually had better things to do.

Like sleep. Or take a fucking shower.

He wasn't exactly the cleanest person at this side on earth, and the smell said, or more like screamed, he needed one.

Just to shut it up Mello did take a shower. Well, hell, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Like shower without masturbating cause you're just not in the mood. Like slip on the soap, which is a classic and made Mello smile even though he hit his shoulder kind of hard.

He really was an insane asshole, lying naked on the floor, smiling, almost laughing, and cursing under the same breath.

When he had gotten up and gotten dressed -hail thee, black leather- he tried calling again. This time he felt better, trying to figure out a somewhat disoriented feeling of inner peace. Was this acceptance or something? Or just plain madness?

It passed, however. Mello never felt inner peace longer than five minutes. Of course, the reason for it now was the still so not answering fucktard who couldn't get off his lazy ass. Why in hell hadn't Roger taught him some manners?

* * *

'I'm disappointed.'

Almost singing, that sweet, mild voice. So nice was the tone, so caring, indicating true kindness. It was loveable, really. Belonging to someone who wasn't a stranger for charity and helping the weaker, a real life saint telling the prettiest tales of an angel.

Oh, fuck it. Forget it. It was the ribs- the hell, was one cracked? He couldn't tell, only listen, only think, and apparently not think straight. It burned, ached, hurt, stung, killed, acid and salt in the wounds and under his skin.

A face glowing like a light in the darkness above him- was he asleep? Was he awake? But it melted away. Matt could not make out the expression or even the looks. Still, he knew that person.

It wasn't blonde, it wasn't Mello.

Who was Mello?

But then again, who cared?

'You think I'm blind? For the record, I'm not. My eyesight is perfectly functional, and I saw it.'

The voice of his tormentor.

He floated in an ocean of blurry impressions, except for the pain that was as clear as ice and glass, and the thoughts were waiting for him at the shore. He didn't want to swim towards them, he had no idea what the meaning of thinking really was.

'Scream for me.'

And no, he wasn't floating, he was drowning, but fuck that, he couldn't have cared less. He sank and it was fucking wonderful.

* * *

Mello went to the club. Again. The road to that place started to get all too familiar. Kind of scary.

It was two o'clock in the morning and the streets were pretty empty. A cold wind blew- that sort which didn't care if you were dressed in a fur or nothing, it swept right through you, chilled you down to the last bone in your body, no matter what.

Mello wore a leather jacket that absolutely did not help and got tears in his eyes from fighting the wind, meeting it head on with nothing to protect his face. His ears were very likely to fall off.

Thanks to his boots, his feet were the only body part of his spared from the cold.

"Am I not at least almost dying for you, you ass?!" Mello screamed as loud as he could manage.

His words didn't reach long, the wind took them away.

"And fuck off, I do not have a split personality," he muttered to himself, giggling.

It was very probable that he needed a therapist.

"I do not, fucker," Mello replied. "You don't know me. Seriously. Piss off."

A by passer looked strangely at him.

"Go to hell!" Mello shouted after her, knowing she couldn't hear him, but not caring.

Matt wasn't there: what did he expect? He should have tailed him when he had the chance. He would have been the ultimate stalker. Besides, he was hot. Not all people were fortunate to be stalked by someone hot.

Mello soon returned home because he couldn't see the point in staying at a place he hated the more time he spend there. It was so fucking Matt. No personality.

* * *

The carpet was white. Interesting. Okay, it had been white, and now it was a mess of brown spots drenching the white, dried blood, a pattern of destruction. Of innocence, the white. Of raped innocence, the brown.

It wasn't very comfortable to lie on, but it was hard to take your eyes off.

And he truly didn't believe he would have found anything comfortable when he felt this miserable. He was a pattern, too: painted of abuse, a map of injuries. His fucking body was a weight that pulled him down and crushed him. It bound him to the floor, a shell, a prison.

He thought he remembered hearing something in his back snap: maybe that was why he couldn't get up. Or perhaps it was that smile, shining white teeth, thin lips, that smile that was so cruel because it was so concerned and compassionate, twisted because it was so painfully normal. It made him sick.

With someone smiling like that only one word came to Matt, through the blood red mist: psychopath. He had tried to fight back, but no, he wasn't that strong, he was the sitting-inside- doing-nothingtype. He had defended himself and been able to land a few strikes on Mello, but Mello was a hothead. This was a sadistic maniac.

This was many more times bigger- and worse- than he had ever thought it to be.

Someone entered the room. Cautious steps, like the person was afraid of waking him up. Matt hurried to shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.

"Mattie?" a voice called.

It was him. He… he didn't sound angry.

That did so not mean anything.

"Mattie?" he repeated.

Matt wanted so bad to just lose his mind or fall asleep or lose consciousness, anything so he didn't have to be aware of being here. But he was alert now, the fear kept him up, made him register every movement. The person- 'Scream for me.'- kneeled at his side and then…

His touch. Matt couldn't help it: he flinched. The fingers, so gentle, so cold. Matt wanted to scream or throw up, or pull the trigger to a gun and blow the head of that fucking sick psycho.

"You remember what I said about the blonde?" he asked.

Not a memory anymore, this was him really speaking.

Matt couldn't play dead any longer. He had to force the words to be put together, make sense and reach the cold room.

"Y-yeash," he said, coughing. "I… I knohow…"

Still he hadn't opened his eyes. To feel it and to hear it was enough: he didn't want to see it.

"Good." A soft laughter. "Does this hurt?"

Fingers around his broken or whatever nose, and then BAM, they tried to push it into his skull, up his brain, pain like a chain reaction on speed travelling through his body. Matt felt hot tears fill up his eyes.

"That is good," his tormentor concluded. "What did I say? You left. You couldn't. What did I say?"

Pause. The fingers loosened their grip. The blood flow, down to his mouth, he could taste it.

'I will kill you, I will kill you… no. I will kill him. I will rape you. I will torture you. You will love it.'

Warm blood streaming down his cheeks… Oh, wait. It was just tears.

End flashback. He really shouldn't think about it. The good thing with the past being the past was that then, it was behind you and you had survived it.

Would he survive this?

"What's with all the silence? You angry at me?" A tired sigh. "Please don't be."

Another pause. Matt writhed on the carpet marked by his blood.

"You ignore me. That annoys me. My, does this finger look weird, sweetie."

One of his dislocated: Matt could feel the strike before it fell. It was light in fact, he only used the palm, but it didn't matter, it made the pain explode and intensify. Matt squirmed and panted, so pathetically frail he couldn't even bring himself to scream.

"I forgive you. I am nice. Be still and you'll see: the pain will pass."

No, it wouldn't. Fuck, it wouldn't.

"I'll have to be going now, darling. You take care, okay?"

Lips were pressed against his cheek, as chilling as the fingers. Matt hated, oh how he hated the tenderness.

"Why…me?" he whispered to a room he could tell was empty, he had already left.

So swiftly… The sickest thought imaginable struck Matt. He. Missed. Him.

No. That was not true.

'I love you, Matt. You are my dearest friend.'

No.

'I would miss you if you left, Matt. I would kill you if you left, Matt. You cannot live without me.'

No. He had to get away from here, he was going crazy.

'I love you. I hate me. I do not want to hurt you. Why do you keep on making me?'

His cell. Yeah. Could he reach it? He needed it. He had to call somebody, he had to get in touch with the outside world…

'They're enemies. None of them love you as I do.'

Hm. How many friends did he have that would come over just because he asked them to? With his voice filled with hurt and no reason he could, would, give them.

'I do not wish to beat you, honey. Therefore, I prefer to not damage your pretty face. I can go with the other body parts. I mean, it would be so hard for you to explain that. Yes, Mattie, aint that thoughtful of me?'

A record kept on playing in his head; how the hell would he stop it? Right, the phone. He had to reach it.

'Oh my god, aren't you stupid? For this, I will utterly destroy you. I am so sorry.'

He knew who he would call, he'd never had a doubt, he was just trying to pretend here. Now, all that was left was a minor problem: how would he fucking reach it?

'I will break you down a hundred times over.'

* * *

The phone was ringing.

The sound burned a hole in his dreams, made them collapse, forced him awake. Mello stumbled out of his bed- it wasn't his, it was Matt's, but whatever- and tiredly staggered around his -yeah, Matt's- room, wondering where he had put his cell phone.

Oh, right. His cell phone was no more. It was the phone in the apartment that was ringing, not his.

Some idiot (he suspected it was he himself) had decided to place the phone in the kitchen, so Mello had to get his ass out there to be able to answer.

"Hello?"

Who in the world would call him anyway?

No words, just heavy breathing. The fuck? A dirty prank call or what?

"I'm hanging up now," Mello told the damn pervert.

"Mel…"

Mello jumped. A voice thick with pain, barely audible and doubtlessly familiar.

"Matt?"

Shit, this was beginning to get real silly. Was he hearing things, or did Matt has as much problem as him moving on?

"Help…" Matt sounded scared and agonised, like the air itself burned his lungs.

Okay, so it wasn't a joke and it wasn't his imagination. Mello didn't allow himself to waver.

"Where the hell are you, fucker? I'm picking you up."

Matt gave him an address.

**Okay o.O… short chapter, but kind of intense (to write, at least.) **

**OMG, I'm so very evil to poor poor Matt, I'm sorry T.T! That weird thing him missing my assholish OC? Ever heard of the stockholm syndrome? Guess that's it... My own character creeps me out… anyone want to help killing him? **

**Anyways, review, review please! It'll make me happy… it will make me stop being so mean to Mattie… Mello, why aren't you there saving him?!**

**And I know, I know, my friends always says 'but you're writing the story, why do you do that if you don't like it yourself?' Sadly, it's the story that owns me, not the opposite. I'm but a slave XD.**

**Thanks for reading3!! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay… so here is part 3! Hope the ending isn't too disappointing or short… I did my best ! **

**Thanks to all reviewers and, also, thanks to those who've favourited and alerted this… but for you, please review now! It's the last chapter after all. Please?? **

**This chapter still has Mello's bad, bad language (somebody get him a dictionary) and some violence in it too… You've been warned. XD!**

**Enjoy!**

**Hide the bruises, take the blame**

**Part 3**

It was an ordinary place. Better than his, really. A quiet and generally clean neighbourhood, a strict, straight, nice, pleasant sight. A white house with a painfully green lawn and flowering bushes among so many others, all looking the same. It wasn't such a big house, but according to the three mailboxes at the white fence it was divided into at least three apartments.

It was early morning and Mello stood in the shadow of a gigantic oak tree, that was positioned in the front of the house next to the one he was headed for. Not much people was around, only a lady walking her dog and a couple giggling and holding hands across the street.

Idyllic, to not say the least. Fucking scary place.

Three apartments? How the hell was he supposed to know in which one to find Matt? Even worse; was this really the place?

Matt hadn't been that easy to understand, mumbling and gasping, and maybe he had gotten the number wrong? Or even the street?

Whatever. Mello hated all those fucking doubts that had somehow sneaked into his head lately; he used to be very sure of things. He had, after all, walked all this way - in those damn heavy boots- so he couldn't turn back now. He just had to use his brains, it wasn't that hard. He was smart. He was incredibly smart.

Though it was possible that his worries already had, or would, slow his mind.

* * *

Matt was sound asleep. He was dreaming.

Even in his dreams, he felt the pain.

A blonde boy dressed all in black sat at Matt's bed - he unconsciously knew it was his bed, though he didn't even recognise the room- in the room they shared, and Matt stood up, leaning against the door. The boy, who was approximately the age of fifteen just like Matt, was eating chocolate with what seemed to be unnecessary force, bit into it so hard Matt could hear his teeth clasp together. Matt himself was playing, he knew it only because he could hear the music and the beeps from the game, but his hands were empty.

He didn't move his fingers.

The blonde boy smiled widely, which on his face looked sort of terrifying.

"Why are you friends with me, Matt?" he asked, doing it in a manner that made it seem like they were in the middle of the conversation- Matt had missed the beginning. "C'mon, give the reasons!"

It almost sounded a little whiny, and it was so not like Mello, that Matt had to watch his empty hands with sudden interest to not burst into laughter.

"Hey, what're you waiting for?!"

Oops. Now he sounded angry. No good.

Matt shook his head. Even in his dream, the movement hurt. He was painfully aware of this being a dream, it was weird, really.

"I can't tell you," he answered, knowing it was a terribly goofy grin that was covering his face.

"You ass!" the blonde snarled. "Why not?"

"The same reason you cannot count the stars."

Matt the younger was obviously extremely satisfied with that reply, while Matt the elder, somewhere in there, frowned at it. Was this some horribly embarrassing episode from his childhood?

Looked like it, and that sucked.

"And why not?!" the blonde demanded to know, all golden fury. "What the fuck does that mean?! Matt, you're such a sissy!"

His eyes was blue as the ocean, reflecting a cloud free sky - god, was he poetic when in pain- and little Matt looked right into them and said, proudly:

"Because they're too many," and big Matt just wanted to kick his own ass or hide behind something for that fucking corny line.

"Fuck, you're so gay!" the boy stated, and Matt the elder agreed, but still he noticed that the blonde did look happy.

And then… the room was gone. There was nothing, or at least nothing concrete.

"Do you love me, Matt?"

It was the boy. No, the boy all grown up, his voice echoing throughout that nothingness.

"Of course I do."

Matt, but another Matt, somewhere else.

"If you left me, I would have to kill us both."

A new voice, the last one. Matt felt shivers making their way down his spine. Why he didn't know: it wasn't like the tone wasn't friendly.

"I will break you down a hundred times over."

"I'm sorry, Mel," he told the blonde boy, now quite confused whether he was dreaming or not.

* * *

One of the apartments on the second floor had the curtains covering the windows. Mello had circled the house a few times by now, feeling like an idiot, and looking rather conspicuous, and that was the only fucking thing he'd been able to see that seemed weird.

So, was that the place? But hey, fuck, wasn't that too obvious? Or was he just overdoing it?

Why the hell would they close the curtains if they weren't hiding something? But why would that fucker need to hide anything? Matt appeared to be obeying anyway, and besides, it was the second floor. No one could see in… If it wasn't from the other, similar houses at its sides.

Was that it? It made most sense. Hell, Matt had sounded pretty, okay, very, hurt. Was it to hide him?

Well, it could just be somebody working night or something, but that didn't explain why all the curtains were closed, not just the ones to the bedroom. It could, however, be the other flats too. It was dangerous to assume too much, it could make him blind to possibilities.

Fuck, he had to start somewhere. As usual this times, he was thinking way too much, he needed to act. He really didn't want to begin imitating Near.

Mello decided to just step in. He wasn't that well behaved. He was armed; a gun down the front of his pants, he let his fingers run across it.

He was lucky, cause the door was open, due to the heat. The hall was empty and the lights lit the moment he entered. Matt had forbid him to call him up, so that was not an option.

Carefully, he tried the only door on the first floor. It was locked. This was probably an idiotic way to go at things, but he had to reach Matt as soon as possible, his fears were all killing him. Mello cursed the fucker and his fucking weird ideas of boyfriends and that fucking asshole to cocksucker to boyfriend, last but not least, while he climbed the stairs trying to think the steps into shutting up. They didn't.

At the second floor, the light didn't function. It was broad daylight outside, so it didn't really matter. There, there were two doors: two anonymous, grey, boring doors telling nothing of the people behind them. Matt hadn't mentioned his freaky, creepy boyfriend's name, and Mello hadn't bothered to read them at the mailboxes, so hell, was he clueless.

Mello pressed his ear against one door, and felt more stupid than ever.

This was just… this was just… This shit was so silly it was an inch from being funny, but it was also so goddamn serious and nasty enough to stop him from laughing.

He couldn't hear anything. He tried the other apartment, too: this was the one with the curtains. Not a sound. It was an unnatural silence, like someone had died here, like something was rotten here, like this place was haunted and cursed and damned.

He had just finished thinking so when the music began. It came from the other apartment and was loud enough to make him jump.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, louder than he had meant to.

Okay, it wasn't that quiet or haunted or cursed or damned. And somebody was actually fucking listening to Britney Spears. If that was Matt's boyfriend, he sure as hell was even more wicked than Mello had thought.

* * *

Really, it wasn't that bad. Getting torn apart, that is. It wasn't like you didn't get used to it.

His limps were quite pleased with not being completely attached to his body by now. And blood really didn't taste that unappetizing.

Look on the bright side, right? Hey, nobody could say Matt wasn't optimistic. There were all this good things after all, so many he could make a list:

He was breathing.

_He _wasn't there.

At least he hadn't gotten raped.

At least he could still use the from time to time malfunctioning brain of his.

At least Mello was coming.

And Mello was extremely blonde, so he might be able to help chase the darkness away. Mello always had a gun, too -poor bastard compensating for something, fuck that gun was huge- so if Matt was nice, maybe he could talk him into putting a bullet between his tear filled, hurting eyes. End the suffering or something. It wasn't that he was suicidal, he was just a little bit sleepy, and Mello owed him for taking so damn long.

But wait… if Mello came and _he _was here, then what the fuck would happen? _He _knew about Mello, in some weird way- what was he, a stalker? And the night Matt met him, had he planned that? Was it not a coincidence?

All those questions made his head hurt.

Matt recalled hearing _him _leave, but he had no idea whatsoever how long ago that was. So yes, Mello had his gun. But this was uncharted territory to him, he didn't know the fucking place. That would however only be a problem if Mello ever gotten here; Matt's instructions might have been, just a little, imprecise.

Fuck didn't it suck to not have the ability to take care of one self; how did all the fairytale females pull that off?

Matt rested his bloodstained cheek in his bloodstained palm and tried by mere will force to get the darkness to return. It was pointless. He couldn't even get unconscious when he wanted to.

Did he really want Mello to come?

* * *

Someone was coming up the stairs. Mello moved away from the doors and tried his best to look innocent, which was kind of hard since he had no excuse at all for being here.

He got his cell out and flipped it open, started watching the display- the picture being that of a half melted chocolate bar - with sudden interest. Could this be Matt's? And even if it wasn't, hell did Mello stand out, with the contrast blonde hair to almost entirely black clothes.

But the person passed him by without even sparing him a second glance. The only feature Mello caught a glimpse of was long, black hair; he didn't see enough to decide the sex of the person or anything.

Was this indistinct shadow the one hurting somebody he loved?

The door that didn't hide the scary fucking place where they played Britney Spears opened and closed and just like that the person was gone. Mello felt sort of stupid; he should have stopped the one, whoever it was. Should have asked something, at least.

Britney Spears sang 'oops, I did it again' as Mello took a few hesitant steps towards the door that had just been closed.

Smacking his inner coward, he then went right over and firmly pulled it open. He did so not feel like knocking.

BAM! And his world exploded in pain and bewilderment, exploded and imploded, an alarm set off in his head and the fucking ringing was making him deaf. He stuttered backwards, trying and failing miserably to keep track of his surroundings, where the fuck was the stairs, he didn't want to fall down some fucking stairs!

From a distant he could hear somebody groaning- himself, he guessed. He felt it, the hot blood making its way down his face, into his eyes, and fuck, he needed his gun right now, what the hell had just happened?

He reached for it but before he was able to grab it his feet left ground, he was yanked forward, it was like falling or more like flying, somebody was actually carrying him inside, arms like an iron belt around his waist, he hit the doorframe so hard it made him struggle for breath. Then, the slam of the door as it was shut behind him.

Seemed like he had found what he was looking for.

* * *

Mello blinked. He could see clearer now. A person- a man, so much he had felt- was stepping around him, since Mello lay stretched out on the floor he could only see the feet moving.

They were in the hall of the apartment and that sucker had dropped him here, along with a dark glass bottle which was probably the object that had caused his bleeding. A bottle?

And Mello was still standing? 'Way to go, jackass.'

"Mel," the man said, he sounded amused, as if he was on the brink of bursting out laughing.

Mello let his fingers wander of to find his gun, trying to not make it too obvious, trying to not make it too slow.

It wasn't there.

"Fuck," Mello hissed.

At the exact same moment, a foot was driven into his ribs with such force that he for some extended seconds was stopped from breathing.

"No gun, Blondie," the man said.

This had to be Matt's, it would make absolutely no sense otherwise.

Mello, who had only planned on hurting him a little, now decided that the fucking pest had got to die. Seriously.

"Why aren't you reacting… Blondie?"

Okay, that was it. Nobody called him that, and least of all two times in a row, and lived.

"Fuck you," Mello panted.

He grabbed one of the man's heals and pulled with newfound strength. The man let out a surprised cry and fell, waving his arms around in panic, nothing but confusion in the face Mello saw while crawling back up. He hit the floor with a thud and another cry, this one of pain.

Mello got to his feet, but he wasn't fast enough; the other man was already halfway up, hell was he quick.

The blonde literally threw himself at him, causing them both to once again fall down, in a mess of arms and legs and screams and curses. The other one was strong, yes, actually really strong, but Mello was pissed and he was the one on top.

He hit him, once, twice, left hand, right hand, with clenched fist and in that fucking ugly face, feeling the blood against his fingers when the skin cracked, and…

Without really knowing how it happened, Mello suddenly found himself have lost the upper hand; lying at the floor on his back, the man's breath and body heat somewhere above him, hands around his neck, knee into his chest, over again pressing every last shred of air out of him.

"Don't you dare try to take him from me, Mel!" the black haired man screamed, all madness and rage now, Mello felt the saliva hitting his forehead.

He tried to shake him off, rolling back and forth, wheezing.

"You are so stupid." The man sounded calmer now, and Mello knew why.

His sight was flickering like a dying candle, his eyes were fighting against him to get closed.

No, fuck if he was this weak. Mello thought of Matt, Matt who left him, Matt who called when he needed his help. He had no fucking intention of dying for that son of a goddamn slutty bitch. Mello forced himself back to consciousness, just because of that, because he was stubborn and childish and had had enough always being number two to Near; fuck them all, he didn't want to die for anybody.

He pushed an elbow up, didn't hit anything it seemed, but it made the man loosen his grip just a bit.

Air, it made him gasp, almost made him dizzy when it came flooding back. Mello tried to use this little opening to push the other one off of him, but he was stuck, the man's legs holding him down. Instead he jerked his head up, didn't have time to aim or anything, only to get lucky; he hit the man anyway, forehead against chin. The black haired man was sent flying this time, right into a wall Mello hadn't noticed being so close.

The blonde was on his feet and very, very eager to ending this when a voice stopped him.

"Mello?"

Matt. It came from another room, reached this one barely higher than a whisper.

Fuck that damsel in distress.

He would have to wait.

"Mello, help!"

Matt didn't sound all too well, his voice so tormented it was hardly recognisable. Mello abandoned his logical thoughts, knowing at the back of his mind that he should deal with this fucker first, but without being able to stop himself.

He staggered through a door, entered something that looked like a living room, shadow filled; the curtains were down all right. Through the living room, and there was a opened door, and through that door…

"Oh my god," Mello said, automatically gripping the rosary that hang from his neck.

Matt lay on the floor, on his stomach, with his head turned to the entrance. His face were that of a dead, so white, the eyes so lifeless. The red hair and the red blood staining him was the most visible colour, it shone, nearly sparkled through the shadows, while his clothes were dark and those eyes were dark and that face was oh so pale. Hadn't it been for the red, he might as well have been in black and white.

"Mello…" Hoarse, low voice, it broke in the middle of his name.

"Fucking shit, Matt!" was all Mello could think of to say. "Hell, I didn't know it was this damn bad… you really do look like shit, huh?… oh fuck."

"Mels…" Matt mumbled, lifting his head an inch. "Be… hind you…"

The sensation of cold steal getting pressed against his neck: Mello froze.

"I would not hesitate to fire this gun," the one behind him explained, in a plain, nearly bored tone. "Be nice."

That's what you got for playing hero. Shit.

Though Mello did assume he was bluffing. Someone was home in the apartment next door, after all, and even if their struggle hadn't been heard - which it might as well have, or they should thank Britney Spears- a gunshot would be. It was only rational to not take the threat seriously; the man would probably wait in the longest before he pulled the trigger, it was a last resort. It wasn't that Mello blamed him being capable of doing it- yes, he would, but it just wasn't very clever.

Or this guy wasn't at all reasonable and he could get shot at this moment.

Mello decided to take a gamble.

He ducked and threw himself backwards, into the man's chest, and BANG, he was almost deaf again, the fucker had actually fired the gun, and hey, was he hit? But no, he seemed fine, and as they both stumbled into the doorframe, a couple dancing an unheard of dance, Mello saw the gun flying out of the man's hand, a glimpse of steal.

Matt had better not gotten hit by that bullet.

'This is good,' Mello thought, before an arm was around his neck and violently forced his breathing to a stop.

"I've had it with you now, Blondie," the man said, breathlessly.

Mello's lungs burned and he turned in the hard grasp, fighting for the fucking air that gave the impression of hating him this day, gaining some at least. He tried to kick, to crush the other's balls or stamp on his feet or whatever; the only thing he hit was the wall.

Blackness was spreading from the corners of his eyes now, no oxygen to keep his lungs satisfied, and what was it with that asshole and Mello's throat? Mello gagged, losing his balance and falling down to his knees.

It really couldn't, wouldn't end this way.

"Don't…"

Mello more felt and heard than actually saw the movement, somewhere over his head. Once again the black haired man eased his grip, this time with a startled gasp.

Mello's visibility returned along with his ability to breath.

"P-please… don't…" A weak, pained whispering.

Since he looked like quite the wreck, Mello had no idea how he had done it, but Matt stood up, trembling. He held his one arm over Mello's head and the blonde was smart enough to understand what it was he was pointing at the black haired man.

Mello made a move to try to get loose, and as a response the man suddenly had his hand, not his arm, around his throat instead.

"I'll kill him," the man said, more a plea than a threat. "We don't… we can be happy…"

'He aint gonna do it,' Mello thought. 'He aint gonna do it and that bastard knows it.'

"Please…"

This time it wasn't an illusion: Matt cried. And he didn't care to hide his tears when he pulled the trigger and blew his boyfriend's brains out.

* * *

It was really kind of blurry from that moment on. Mello knew he grabbed his gun from Matt, and he knew he wiped the contents from the man's head off of him, and that Matt apologised for it staining him. He remembered saying it was okay. He knew he carried Matt away from there, on the look out for the police that was likely to be on their way, all the while Matt was sobbing and holding on to him with those messed up fingers, as hard as he could manage.

He lightly recalled meeting people, and that they stared.

But apart from that? Nothing much.

* * *

"What're we… gonna do now, Mel?"

Matt's sentence was interrupted in the middle by a yawn. He looked sleepy too, but that was how he was nowadays.

It was one week later and he was still recommended to stay in his bed. Mello had gotten him a doctor that didn't really work official: mob contacts. Useful, if something.

They were at a hotel room, in another city, as far away as Hal Lidner had been willing to drive them. She made them swear not to tell Near, and she had begged Mello to get another driver the next time, or at least to not call her number unless it was absolutely necessary. However, she had been the one who agreed to drive them the quickest.

They were all over the news back there, and she said it was distracting.

Lame excuse. Mello had seen her looks when he'd been in her bathroom.

Matt's question… right. Mello took a bite of his chocolate bar, felt it melting in his mouth. He wanted to ask Matt if he regretted what he had done.

"I don't know," the blonde replied instead, after a tired silence. "All I do know is that now, we're at least partners in crime."

**Okay… hope you liked it!! It felt, well, weird to end this… I don't know. It's not that good. I suck at writing fights at least, I'm sorry!**

**Again, please review (if you have gotten this far, you have to XD)!!**

**(I just had to have the Hal-part to prove how gay Mello is! He he… XD) **


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